the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 

and creepy things too

Here we are again, heading towards the end of the year almost halfway through November.

I do love this time of year, even though it is very expensive for me. My brother and I are the only ones born in the summer. Everyone else in our original family and the families we formed with our spouses are born in either October, November or December. What with Christmas and all, I have a lot of shelling out to do at the end of the year.

However, that is not the main reason that I like this time of year more than say summer or spring. It is because in my mind, it has such an atmosphere about it and some of our best festivals are held at this time.

It is a time of long nights and ghost stories, fire lighting to chase away the demons of the night and the celebration of the solstice to welcome back the sun.

 Round about mid September, I start to revisit M R James, who produced some of the finest ghost stories ever written. His prose was masterful and the atmosphere he created is unequalled. Because the stories were written to be read out loud, you can imagine sitting close to each other in a semi darkened room, wondering what is behind the shadows and when the story ends, if you will get there safely when it’s time to say good night and go home. The primitive feeling of being safe by the fire and the light it casts, that all good ghost stories evoke. Sheridan Le Fanu was another writer who could produce atmosphere, but not as consistently as James. The best of their stories have been made into films, or to t.v. programmes and although some are very good, some have completely transformed the tales by trying to interpret perfection for a “modern world”.

 One of my most disappointing listens was a production of Lost Hearts, in which the boy Stephen was telling the story to his fiancé as a way of exorcising his childhood trauma.

The ancient mariner was a poem in what I would call the atmospheric style. Extracts from which are so good that they stay with you for years.

My favourite is “Like one, that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread, and having once turned round walks on and turns no more his head; because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread”.

Angela Carters book the bloody chamber conjures up atmosphere in this way too as does the pilgrims progress in parts. Anyway, in the weeks leading up to Halloween (our original Halloween not the Americanised version), generating the right atmosphere was essential if you were going to get the most out of it.

Oh how we thrilled, peeling an apple without breaking the skin at midnight, throwing it over your shoulder by candlelight and facing a mirror; half believing that you really would see your future spouse standing behind you.

Then there was playing the witch is dead game in the dark and having to put your hand in a paper bag for the witches eye, which was a peeled grape. In the dark your imagination runs wild and we all screamed together. Finally, there was the levitation chant and then snapdragon before we all went outwith turnip lanterns ( note turnip not pumpkin) to see if we could find spirits in the local graveyard.

Atmosphere you see, now we can get along!

After scaring yourself silly, it was all hands on deck for bonfire night. The creation of a guy, leading to a bonfire, toffee apples, fireworks, Parkin and baked potatoes sent the demons scuttling back to the shadows for another year.

I went to the great display in Lewes once and loved all the burned in effigy offerings paraded through the streets . I wonder if there will be a two tier Kier effigy this year, or even if it would be allowed.

By this time, most people are well into the run up to Christmas, but there is still the winter solstice to take into account. By that I don’t mean all the  people leaping about round Stonehenge believing themselves to be druids and witches, but the gratitude that comes with the solstice that tells you that the world is turning again and the sun will return. The winter solstice was always more important than the summer one to the ancients. They waited with bated breath to see the sunrise, hoping that as in other years, this year too they would not be let down.

We always have a winter barbecue on the solstice, and  raise a glass for the return of the sun out of a fond respect for our ancestors beliefs.  Somehow this barbecue is more atmospheric than Christmas, or at least what Christmas has now become.

The next thing of course is Christmas, which is a cut down commercialisation of what it once was. It really used to be the twelve days of Christmas in olden times, with each of the twelve days leading up to Christmas Day signifying a particular saint or custom to be celebrated and ending on Boxing Day. Now it starts on Christmas Eve and ends on Boxing Day and far from being an atmospheric festival, it has been reduced to stuffing yourself silly and spending far too much money.

There are a couple of traditions left over in a very much weakened form, such as carol singing and advent calendars, but the connections to the past are very thin and the mystery of the celebration has all but vanished.

The final festival is New Year’s Eve, if you believe January the first is New Year’s Day. I say this because both the winter solstice and November the first have been New Year’s Day in past history, depending what sort of religion was in ascendancy at the time. In these times, first footing is sometimes practiced, auld lang sine sung and a “bucket list” of New Year’s resolutions made that are never, or hardly ever kept.

However, the one thing all these festivals had in common, was a belief that the vale between the living and the dead and magical creatures and humans was very thin at this time of year and that strange and terrible things could happen, so you’d better watch out!

Was that stranger you met on the road at dusk really an old man looking for a hand out, or the fairy king in disguise.

Who was singing in the wood late at night, or was it really just the wind?

Atmosphere, four lovely months of it, before the spring comes and we are renewed; leaving the phantoms of last year behind.